


Unravelling

by jusrecht



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-28
Updated: 2011-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet again, with lives lost and battles now between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unravelling

She was beautiful—even more beautiful than Gwen remembered. Cloaked by white, shimmering mists, the pale blessing of a fading moon on her black, unbound hair, she stood at the edge of the forest like a lone flower born out of dark whispers of the trees. A child of wilderness, wreathed in magic.

“Gwen,” she called, sweetly and yet not without a hint of mockery that twined about the name like a thorn-riddled vine. “My dear Gwen. Finally we meet again.”

She approached, gliding across wet grass and dead leaves. Gwen stood rooted to the ground, partly because she could not move, partly because she would not. Her escorts, loyal, steadfast knights sworn to protect her, were all trapped in the depth of conjured sleep. She was alone.

“Morgana.”

Morgana smiled at the whisper of her name from her lips, as pleased as a child in the festal merriment of her birthday, before tall, colourful mountains of presents (and yet what child hid so much darkness behind the simple red curve adorning her face—and Gwen tried very hard not to think about Mordred, her healing ribs still throbbing in her chest.)

“I heard you were wounded in the last battle,” Morgana began, and there was the old Morgana she knew, the lady who cared. The gentle concern in her eyes touched an aching corner of Gwen’s heart, stippled with small, painful wounds that never completely healed.

“Not badly,” she managed a faint smile. Morgana now stood before her, mere feet away, and her smile was cheerless. (There were many ways to wear a mask; sometimes she didn’t know which the real one was anymore.)

“I’m sorry.” A pale, graceful hand rose to caress her cheek. It was such a familiar gesture; Gwen would have closed her eyes and _pretended_ —but now was not then. Too many changes marked the passage of time. Morgana hissed and her eyes flashed gold, the tips of her withdrawn fingers burned white by unseen fire. A familiar voice echoed in the still air, both a threat and a comfort in Gwen’s ears. It was no ordinary magic that protected the king and queen of Camelot, cast by no ordinary wizard.

“Always,” Morgana murmured, venom dripping from each word, “ _always_ a nuisance.”

But the colour soon dimmed, leaving her eyes once more a pale shade of blue, clear but not untroubled. Now she merely looked sad, wearied, and the sight twisted Gwen’s heart. She still remembered her young, beautiful princess, the nights spent at her bedside, bathing her temple with cool water as she wrestled the black, reaching arms of her nightmares.

“Come with me, Morgana.”

For a moment, Morgana looked surprised—pleased, almost—but just as quickly the contemptuous smile returned. “Come with you and join Arthur?” she accused, derision ringing loud and clear.

“End this madness.” Gwen took a step closer; she did not miss Morgana’s flinch, or the clenched fist at her side, still glowing white with magic. “Uther is dead. You have no grudge against Arthur.”

“Oh, but I do,” she replied and there was such unfamiliar malice in her voice it froze Gwen’s heart. That was when she knew that it was a stranger standing before her: Morgana le Fay, an enemy of Camelot, of her beloved husband, of Merlin.

Her lady was no more.

It should have been painful, this realisation, but Gwen only felt empty. Now she understood Uther’s hatred of magic; it destroyed lives, more than swords or spears ever could—and somehow the small leap of hate-smeared fire was enough to make her decision, to make her look at Morgana in the eye and say, “As long as you aim to destroy Camelot, I will stand in your path.”

Morgana’s face was expressionless. “Then it must be so,” she said, as quiet and solemn as she was majestic. (She had always been majestic, her lady that was no more.)

Then she disappeared—just as she had appeared, shrouded in mists and ominous silence. Gwen watched the silvery haze slowly disperse, swallowed once more by omnipotent dark. The caress of Morgana’s magic whispered against her skin, cold but exquisite, almost a farewell. Then it was gone.

Night reigned. She was no more.

It was only then that Gwen sank to her knees and wept.

 

 _  
**End**   
_


End file.
